


I'd Tell You To Start Swimming

by VenetaPsi



Category: Banana Bus Squad
Genre: "Are we friends?", Alternate Universe - High School, Amateur Psychology, Character Study, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Evan and Jon are independent boys, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, I'm a big psychology nerd, Jon and Luke's bromance, Learning to Feel again, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Pseudoscience, Psychological Trauma, Psychological study, References to Depression, Sociopathic character, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Strangers to Lovers, There ain't no weak ones here, asking for advice, recovering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:54:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21733327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VenetaPsi/pseuds/VenetaPsi
Summary: One day Evan Fong stopped in front of him. Sat down. He asked;“What would you say if I told you I was drowning?”“I’d tell you to start swimming,” Jonathan replied without thought; careless; tired. Blunt and heartless. It was a crude answer, especially since Jon had hear the exhaustion in the orchestra student’s voice, the timidness in his question. He felt bad immediately.But Evan, he just smiled slightly, tiredly.“Thank you,” He said sincerely, contemplatively. An expression of deep thought spread across his face as he rose to his feet, leaving Jon at the lunch table to stare at his sandwich and frown.
Relationships: Evan Fong/Jonathan | H2ODelirious
Comments: 22
Kudos: 192





	I'd Tell You To Start Swimming

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize in advance if any of my science/understanding of psychology is off. My intent is never to offend anyone who may be influenced by a mental issue. 
> 
> Please enjoy!

One day Evan Fong stopped in front of him. Sat down. He asked;

“What would you say if I told you I was drowning?” 

“I’d tell you to start swimming,” Jonathan replied without thought; careless; tired. Blunt and heartless. It was a crude answer, especially since Jon had hear the exhaustion in the orchestra student’s voice, the timidness in his question. He felt bad immediately. 

But Evan, he just smiled slightly, tiredly. 

“Thank you,” He said sincerely, contemplatively. An expression of deep thought spread across his face as he rose to his feet, leaving Jon at the lunch table to stare at his sandwich and frown. 

Later that day, Jonathan walked home; earbuds in and backpack over his shoulder, kicking at the rocks along the path. His calculus textbook was going to give him permanent back issues. He thumbed the strap of the bag idly. 

He wondered about the short, black-haired boy who’d approached him in the lunchroom, had swooped in past the tables of crowded students and seated himself at Jon’s small table in the middle, where he sat alone. 

He wondered why a quiet boy he’d never spoken to had asked him such a loaded question. 

Jon frowned, and felt bad, and kicked a rock. 

That little orchestra student was drowning, and all he had said was to swim. 

He hated Evan’s little smile. 

The weekend passed without event. So did Monday. Tuesday. On Wednesday, Jon was stopped by a hand on his elbow. He turned to see Evan watching him, his face blank like always. Lips frowning, like usual. Evan gave Jonathan a forced smile, and Jon resisted the urge to wince. 

He felt bad. 

“I need advice on Mr. Luther,” Evan said. Jon shifted impatiently as passing time slipped away, and thought. 

“He likes cookies. He’ll probably be more lenient if you bake for him.” He said, and Evan nodded. “I wouldn’t hold out hope though. He gives so much homework you won’t have time to make anything.” 

Despite his useless advice, Evan’s expression didn’t darken; it remained neutral, considering. The late bell rang. 

“I need to go,” Jon complained, and Evan’s fingers fell from his elbow as the elder turned away, began to jog down the hall. He glanced over his shoulder once to see the musician standing there, arms crossed over his chest, staring unseeing at a locker. 

_He was going to be late,_ Jon decided. _I am too._

Jon saw Evan sitting on the steps of the building, textbook in lap and coat curled around himself. It was nearly thirty minutes after school had ended for the day.

“Your ride late?” Jon asked as he approached, not quite sure why he did. Evan glanced up and smiled tightly, and Jon wondered if Evan liked him more then everyone or hated him more. No one else got forced smiles. 

“No, we have a rehearsal in an hour and a half. I didn’t want to bother walking home and walking back.” 

“...I see,” Jon said, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. An awkward silence stretched between them. “I’m going home.” 

Evan’s lips ticked up ever so slightly, the ghost of something genuine. 

“Goodbye,” He said with a small wave, and looked down at his book. Jon turned and fled. 

Even as he walked home, Jonathan shivered in his jacket. 

Evan must’ve been freezing. 

“What are good complementary colors to put on a poster on Economics,” Jon asked when Evan walked up to him at his locker. It was the issue he had been wrestling with ever since the first period, and was at the forefront in his mind. 

“...blue and orange are often used as color schemes in combination with white on company websites,” Evan offered after a moment of contemplation, and Jon nodded thoughtfully, passing his notebook back and forth between his hands. 

“What do you want?” Jon asked after another beat of silence, looking up at Evan. “Did you need something?” 

Evan smiled faintly, and the gesture looked less plastic than usual. 

“No. No, I’m good,” He says, turning around and heading for his next class. Jon watched him go quietly. 

One day, Evan sat down across from him at lunch for the second time, a book in hand, looking distracted. Jon glanced up from his phone for a moment, then looked back down. 

The next day Evan showed up again. 

“What do you hate most?” Evan asked through a bite of something from a tupperware container. Jon looked up, set his phone down and considered. 

“I hate people,” He said honestly, and Evan chuckled. Jon stared at him, listening to the soft, rumbling sound. 

“I didn’t know you felt human emotions,” He blurted. Evan smiled at him conspiratorially before taking another bite of pasta. 

“I guess it’s good I don’t act like a person then,” The musician said thoughtfully, and Jon started. 

“I don’t hate you.” 

Evan hummed and nodded in agreement. 

“No, you don’t.” 

“Are you still drowning?” Jon questioned one day as they walked back to his house together, kicking a rock like he always did. Evan kicked it back. 

“Well I can’t. Someone told me to swim,” Evan answered casually, and Jon nodded, already distracted.

“I don’t like my science teacher.” 

“Mine’s not bad. We blow up balloons.” 

They passed a rock back and forth between them, focused. 

“I took lifeguarding lessons once,” Jon blurted, jumping back on the previous train of thought. 

Evan smiled. 

“I can tell.” 

“...I don’t think you understand social situations, Jon,” Luke told him. Jonathan hummed nocommitally, fiddling with the half-torn-apart RC car on Luke’s desk, twiddling a screw loose with a thin tool. 

“No,” Jon agreed, nudging the bit of metal free and allowing a piece of plastic casing to slip off into his hand. “My therapist says I have some sociopathic tendencies. Except that can’t be, because I’m not suave or charismatic.” 

Luke chuckled and turned another page in the comic book he was reading. 

“Anything new?” 

Jon shrugged, then paused, tapping his finger against the car’s rubber tire idly. 

“There’s another student who talks to me and sits with me.” 

“A friend?” Luke asked, looking up and raising an eyebrow. “I thought you hated friends. Said you didn’t believe in it.” 

Jon pulled out another screw. 

“Are we friends?” Jon asked, watching Evan buy copious amounts of gum at the corner market. 

“I thought so,” Evan replied, handing money to the cashier. 

“I didn’t,” Jon replied honestly, and Evan shrugged, as if this didn’t matter. 

“We are.” 

“You’re not the boss of me,” Jon argued as Evan took his bag and the two walked away, leaving a baffled cashier to stare after them. 

“It only takes one disallusioned person to have something between people called a friendship,” Evan pointed out, and Jon frowned. 

“Fine,” he grumbled, and Evan offered him a stick of gum. 

“Friends share,” He told Jon cheerfully, and Jonathan rolled his eyes as he accepted the gift. 

“You’re very into this. Also, I have never shared with you.” 

“You let me sit at your table,” Evan pointed out as they walked. 

Oh. So he did. 

“You should take AP Psychology with me,” Jon suggested as they sat in the cafeteria, trading goldfish for pringles. “You’re weirdly good at predicting people’s thoughts.” 

Evan hummed in thought, and shrugged. 

“I don’t know if I have room with orchestra.” 

“You should quit Orchestra and do Psych with me,” Jon pointed out, and he was surprised to realize he wasn’t serious. He’d joked.

“You should quit Psych and do Orchestra with me,” Evan teased back. 

Jon stared at him, and Evan stared back. 

Evan brought a pringle to his mouth and crunched, holding eye contact. 

Jon smiled. 

On January 3rd, Evan didn’t come to school. He didn’t come on the 4th or the 5th either. 

“Luke, how do I get someone’s phone number,” Jon asked, staring at the guts of the RC car once more, useless at this point. 

“Usually, you ask the person.” Luke snorted, flipping a page. 

“I can’t. They’re not at school.” 

“Well that’s an issue. Do you know their friends?” His older brother deadpanned, and Jon frowned. 

“No.” 

“Ask then, Jon.” 

“I need a friend of Evan Fong’s,” Jon asked the Orchestra teacher, who stared at him with bemusement before motioning over a tall, African American boy. 

“I need Evan’s number,” Jon told him, and the boy raised an eyebrow. 

“Okay, first off- Hi, I’m Marcel, you are…? And two- I’m not just giving a friends number of any ass- sorry Ms. Philips, dumbass who asks for it.” 

Ms. Philips sighed at the attempted censorship, and Jon felt his lips twitch. 

“We’re friends. He’s not been at school and I-” All of a sudden, Jon’s words stuck in his throat. 

_I was worried._

His shock and horror must’ve showed on his face because Marcel softened. 

“Come on,” He motioned for Jon to follow and walked towards the instrument locker room at the back of the classroom. 

Jon followed numbly. 

**[Evan Fong]**

_Are you alive?_

His homework sat uncompleted on his desk as Jon waited for an answer, unable to focus. 

**im alive. sick**

Jon’s racing heartbeat settled as he reread the message, typed a reply. 

_Don’t get me sick_

**wouldn't dream of it**

“Luke, I think I’m sick,” Jon told his brother, spinning in circles on the desk chair. 

“You’re not gonna have to ‘think’ if you keep doing that,” Luke warned, and Jon halted his movement with a pout.

“I’m serious. There’s something wrong with me.”

“Because you don't process emotions or form corporeal bonds or interfamilial relationships?” Luke asked, and Jon scowled. 

“No, because I was _worried_ about someone’s well being. Enough to go out of my way for them.”

Luke glanced up in shock, both at Jon’s words and tone of voice. 

“You’re therapist is going to have a field day,” Luke chuckled after a moment, amused. 

“She already did,” Jon sighed. “Apparently this is ‘revolutionary’.” 

He missed Luke’s small, proud smile. 

“You’re back,” Jon deadpanned, staring at Evan as the shorter attempted to shove his bag into his locker. 

“Yeah,” Evan acknowledged, using his hip to push his locker door shut. “What did I miss?”

“A lot,” Jon told him honestly. “I can explain some at lunch.”

“Awesome,” Evan sighed, and bent down to pick up his notebook and binder. “I’ll see you then.” 

“See you,” Jon said, and Evan smiled at him faintly before rushing off to class. 

Jon’s calculus teacher pointed out at the end of class that he was in a much better mood that day. 

“What do you do for the whole two hours between school and rehearsal? Just sit and work in the cold?” Jon asked. Evan laughed lightly and shook his head. Jon’s lips always instinctively twitched when he heard that new sound. 

“No, my teacher has started letting me into the music wing early. I comendeer a practice room and play or write on my laptop.” 

“You compose music?” Jon asked, surprised, and Evan nodded, something like pride gleaming in his eyes. 

“It’s a lot of fun for me,” He promised, and Jon didn’t doubt it as he considered Evan’s expression. 

“It’s better than being in the cold, I guess,” Jon stated, and Evan smiled lightly. 

“The cold thing really bothers you, huh.”

“You got sick,” Jon pointed out, and the words escaped before he really thought about them. 

Evan’s smile widened. 

“My therapist is off the moon that we’re friends,” Jon confessed to Evan one day as they laid outside in the snow. He watched lazily as Evan drew patterns in the white blanket with his fingers. 

“Is that so?” Evan laughed, wiping his wet hands on his pants and cupping his palms to his mouth to blow on them. Jon tugged off his own gloves and tossed them into Evan’s lap, glaring until Evan put them onto his red fingers. 

“She says there’s a possibility I may grow out of my sociopathic tendencies.” 

“She doesn’t think you’re an actual sociopath?” Evan asked casually, and Jon shrugged, putting his own now-chilly hands into his jacket pocket. 

“I think she’s holdin’ onto hope.” 

Evan flopped back in the snow, and Jon watched quietly as a puff of white powder settled in Evan’s raven hair, dotted his dark clothes. 

“I like you the way you are,” Evan commented. “It’s refreshing to have someone who will say things how they are, and who isn’t coy about what they want. I also think you’re a lot more in tune with the world then you think.” 

“...that’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Jon complained, and Evan laughed delightedly. 

“Are you still drowning?” John asked for the second time as they curled up on his sofa, passing a controller back and forth every half hour or so as they played GTA. 

“...I see shore, I think,” Evan replied, and Jon smiled slightly, watching the character run down the street as he reached for a pretzel from the bag at their feet. 

“I’m glad.” 

The words slipped out, and Jon froze, watching a slow smile spread across Evan’s lips as the musician remained focused on his game. 

“I think I might see a ship that’ll pick me up.” 

Jon was grateful when the controller was passed his way, and he didn’t have to think beyond the game before him. 

“Luke.”

“Yes, Jon,” Luke sighed, looking up from his laptop for the fifteen time in five minutes. “The crackers are in the-”

“What if he dies?”

Luke’s words dried up, and Jon shifted uncomfortably under his stare. 

“Evan’s not going to die, Jonathan. Why would you think that?” Luke’s words were strangely quiet, and Jon just felt weirder because of it. 

“I’m just realizing...I don’t- I don’t like that idea. If he dies.”

Jon’s stomach twisted, and Luke’s expression went softer then he’d ever seen before. 

“Come here,” His brother coxed gently, patting the seat beside him. Jon shuffled over and sat down at the kitchen table, only tensing slightly when Luke’s arm settled around his shoulders in a half-hug. “It’s natural, fear of losing someone you care about.”

“It’s awful,” Jon mumbled, sinking further into Luke’s side as his brother smiled sadly down at him. 

“Yes, it is.”

“Don’t die,” Jon ordered, staring Evan straight in the eyes across the lunch table. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Evan responded cheekily. 

One night as they laid in Jon’s bed together, watching YouTube on the laptop, Evan said something in French. 

“...I don’t know what ‘soo-ree’ or any of that means.”

 _”Sourire,”_ Evan corrected. “And it means smile. I said I liked your smile.” 

“Oh. Was I smiling?” Jon asked in confusion, and Evan chuckled. 

“Yes, you were. At the video I think. It was a very nice smile, I wasn’t lying.”

“Oh the video is trash,” Jon said, shutting him down. “I was smiling at the atmosphere we’re in. It’s warm. And nice.” 

“Cozy,” Evan supplied, watching him with a curious expression. 

“Yeah. That.” 

“All my teachers, and my counselor at school, and Luke, and my therapist say I’m improving,” Jon told Evan, who nodded his agreement. 

“You’re acting very human nowadays,” He pointed out, and Jon frowned at him. 

“What does that mean?” 

“I had a theory you were a robot, in the beginning,” Evan explained casually as Jon stared at him. “And later that you were a trauma victim.”

“...well I am that.” 

Evan looked up in curiosity and more than a little concern. 

“Come again?” 

“I wasn’t always like this. Apparently i was very cheerful and loud and giggly as a child.” Jon shifted uneasily at the growing look of horror in Evan’s expression. “I was in a car crash. My parents died. I got a bad head injury. Luke said my personality completely changed because of it.”

“Jesus,” Evan blurted and for the first time in years since the accident, Jon felt a raw aching in his chest. Burning near his eyes. 

“I’m over it,” He said, even as tears began to roll down his cheeks. “...you’re the first person I’ve told about- Why I-”

Evan hugged him as he cried, silent and calm. Jon soaked his shirt and the side of his neck, but Evan just petted his hair gently and held him. 

Jon clung tight. 

“You’re fixing me,” Jon said softly as he ran his hand behind Evan’s ear, scooping his long, dark hair into his palm and separating it into three parts. “Why? Is it not draining to be around me?”

“I don’t think so,” Evan told him equally as gently. “You’re very good for my mental health. Very honest. And I’m not actively trying to fix you. I think you’re fixing yourself. I think it’s just happening.”

“But I can’t be good for you- I can’t express affection. I’m like a perpetually emotionally abusive relatiosnhip” Jon argued, ignoring the rest of Evan’s comment. “...or at least that’s how I’ve had it described to me.” He took painstaking care in trying to get the braid he was shaping Evan’s hair into even and symmetrical. Evan’s body rumbled with warm chuckles beneath him. 

“I think you’d be surprised, Jon.” 

“Whatever. Ponytail holder?” Evan placed the hair piece into Jon’s expectant hand and sat calmly while Jon looped it around the end of his hair. “...You should put flowers in it, like Repunzel.”

“In your dreams,” Evan laughed, and Jon began to giggle too, fueled by the warmth of Evan’s proximity. The sensation was rough and unfamiliar; disused, but Evan lit up at the sound, smile growing impossibly wide. Jon had to turn away to hide the sudden heat in his cheeks at the sheer _pride_ in Evan’s eyes. 

“I just- she’s being a bitch you know, and I know she’s a teacher, but the least she could do is try and _care_ just a _little_ about students’ mental states, and-” 

Jon rose to his feet, reaching out to settle his hands on a ranting Evan’s shoulder. 

“Hey, Evan. Breathe.” The musician glared for a second before sucking in a deep lungful of air and instantly sagged, anger bleeding away. Jon tugged on his arm until Evan sat down on the bed beside him, then a little further so that they were laying side-by-side on the blankets. 

“Now...tell me again what happened?” Jon asked, because Evan still looked upset and he hadn’t understood half of what the musician had shouted as he burst through the door. It was making John's gut churn uncomfortably, to see him so distressed.

He listened quietly as Evan explained all about his shitty English teacher and how she assigned an ungodly amount of essays and projects that no one could keep up with, and nodded along. 

Jon realized with a jolt that this was the first time he’d heard anyone out about an issue and actually cared that they seemed bothered. 

Afterward, when they had been laying in silence for several minutes, Evan rolled over so that he was on his stomach and their shoulders pressed together. 

“Thank you,” He murmered into the pillow, and something warm blossomed in Jon’s chest. 

“Sure. So long as it makes you feel better.” 

His therapist would be so proud. 

They strolled through the art museum calmly, side-by-side. Jon had earbuds in and listened to a podcast and was there to simply observe the art, in contrast to Evan who was taking the time to read every single plaque or pamphlet he could get his hands on. 

“Was it everything you’d hoped it would be?” Jon asked as they made their way through the final gallery, and Evan grinned; carefree; content. 

“Yes. Yes it was.” 

“Good,” Jon smiled lightly, and Evan reached out to squeeze his hand in an excited gesture of gratitude. Jon didn’t particularly care nor mind when their fingers stayed locked together as they walked. 

As they ran down the steps outside of the museum to the bus stop, Jon suddenly blurted out;

“Are we dating?”

“I thought so,” Evan replied, smiling lightly as he squeezed Jon’s hand lightly in his own.

“I didn’t,” Jon laughed and Evan began to giggle too.

“We are.” 

“My therapist told me that under the medical definitions, I no longer can be defined as a sociopath,” Jon announced as he walked into Evan’s room. The musician glanced up from his guitar and scattered sheets of music with a grin, setting the instrument aside to rise and greet him. 

“Are you happy?” Evan asked, and Jon hummed thoughtfully for a moment before nodding. 

“Yeah. You and Luke deserve a person who can express empathy.” 

Evan laughed lightly, cheeks turning faintly pink as he sunk back onto his bed. 

“Are you drowning still?” Jon asked in a quieter tone as he sat beside the shorter. Evan considered for a moment, then shook his head; expression peaceful, with a small, genuine smile. 

“No. There’s sand beneath me.”

Jon smiled.

“Good,” He said, and Evan kissed him.


End file.
